


Assassin in the Night

by WhereTomorrowGoes



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins, Angst, Death References, Emotionally Crippled Erik Is Fun To Read, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereTomorrowGoes/pseuds/WhereTomorrowGoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is an assassin for hire. He gets a name and a photograph, the rest doesn’t matter so long as he gets paid. The latest name he receives is Charles Xavier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assassin in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from my Livejournal account.
> 
> Sorry it's so angsty - I just felt the need to get this out. No idea why....
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

“Are you here to kill me?” The voice asks softly, the tone more curious then frightened, as though waking up to a man standing at the end of your bed with a gun was a conversation starter and not a reason to panic. Erik tilts his head a little as he processes the mark’s unusual response. His eyebrows knit together as he wonders, not for the first time this evening, why he didn’t just shoot the man when he was sleeping. A kindness really, he wouldn’t even know what happened – for him it would have been a day like any other, ended in bed dreaming peacefully of the things he would do when he awoke. Not many people got that – hell not many people Erik was sent after deserved that. But after weeks of surveillance, watching and documenting his perfectly boring routine, what could he say, he was slightly intrigued by this unassuming man.

In the time he took to have these thoughts the mark had carefully moved up and off the bed. Slowly, as if to prove he wasn’t trying to run, he reached for a chair and carefully slid on a dressing gown, tying it tightly around his wiry muscular frame and stood there waiting 4 feet away. Erik’s eyes had traced the movement, his gun followed every step. The slight chuckle that broke the silence didn’t help Erik’s pensive confusion “Sorry, I know it seems silly when I’m going to die anyway, but I just hate to be cold”. This time there was nothing slight in Erik’s expression, full shock had descended on him, his head was now damn near a 45 degree angle and his eyebrows dominated his forehead. So he was incapable of further expression when a hand was thrust out between them, and with a soft smile and still a hint of amusement “My name is Charles”.

After a few uncomprehending blinks and a quick ‘get it the fuck together’, Erik straightened his stance, pulling his head back to give a terse nod and ignoring the offered hand replied roughly “I know”. His hand was still tight around the gun and he raised it marginally so it aligned with the mark’s heart. If anything the other man’s smile just increased “Of course you do, how silly of me. I imagine a man such as yourself knows a great deal more about me than just my name.”

There was nothing recriminating in that statement, it was just a fact delivered as a fact, but for some reason it grated on Erik. He felt angry. Of course he knew more, it was his fucking job to know. Here this damn man was standing calmly in front of his gun, acting for all the world as though Erik were an old acquaintance he was happy to catch up with. Acting as though Erik hadn’t been watching him for weeks, tracing his steps, visiting his work, following him to his favourite coffee shop, watching as he paced around his big empty home, sitting for hours on end in his study forgetting to eat or sleep as he tapped away on his laptop. Jesus! Didn’t this fucking man know that...but of course he didn’t. Erik stopped himself. Marks had no idea they were marks until the end – that was what he was good at, that’s why he could command the fee he did, he was a silent killer, he hung around long enough to confirm an identity then he took care of it. That’s the deal. So why did he feel so bothered at the fact that Charles hadn’t noticed his presence?

Charles cleared his throat and Erik started, obviously he had been thinking too long again. “Terribly sorry my friend, but would you mind if we perhaps moved this down stairs? It’s just that my cleaning service would be very put out if I bled out on the carpet – devil to get out blood, or so I imagine.” At some point Charles would say something that he would not react like an imbecile to, or so Erik promised himself as his jaw dropped at these latest words. He should have been wary, this would have had trap written all over it, a ruse to lure him into a room with a weapon or security, but Erik knew Charles didn’t have any of that. No security but a couple of cameras on the gates, and absolutely no weapons – Charles apparently didn’t believe in gun ownership as evidenced by the anti-NRA rally he was photographed at in college.

Well Erik wasn’t heartless, if Charles didn’t want to die in this room for whatever reason (clearly the cleaning excuse was bullshit, because seriously, who the fuck gives a damn about the mess when you’re about to die?) he wasn’t about to deny him such a simple request. So he asked in a less gruff then usual voice “Where would you like to be?”

Charles led them through the house, Erik following 3 steps behind gun positioned between them. It was a big house/mansion, filled with what must have been priceless pieces of art and furnishings designed to draw your eye, everything just screamed wealth and prestige...and loneliness. On his few reconnaissance trips he hadn’t seen any family portraits, no crappy artworks done by children and proudly displayed, not even a single photograph – it was creepy. Wandering down the second flight of stairs Erik noticed they were heading for “The kitchen? Seriously?!” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud and the sound of his surprised voice echoed around as the lights flickered on in the impressively large - but still a kitchen – kitchen. Another chuckle “I know, a little odd, you’ll have to forgive me, but you did say I could choose the room” Charles had raised his eyebrows at that last part, almost daring him to change his mind. Erik forced a shrug as Charles walked over to the island bench and sat on a stool, turning his body so that he was looking away from Erik and toward the fridge.

Erik hadn’t moved, really this night was not going as expected and he knew it was his fault – if Charles wasn’t such a damn enigma this wouldn’t have been an issue. But that was just it, weeks of research into this man’s life had turned out his education, his business, his schedule, his frankly awful collection of cardigans, but that was all. Nothing else. It wasn’t like Erik expected to uncover a secret Nazi association, but Charles had no hidden skeletons, none, and that just didn’t happen – no one was that fucking perfect. Well no one that Erik got the call to take care of anyway, and this uneasy feeling was new to him.  
“My friend these silences seem to be occurring more and more, I do hope I am not interrupting your preparation, but just to clarify, you have been sent to kill me?” Charles looked back at him directly, and this time there was no humour, no soft chuckle, his blue eyes pleaded for an answer. This was the reaction that Erik was most familiar with, this he knew how to handle, but oddly he found no comfort in that fact. As ridiculous as it was, he missed the soft smile Charles had favoured him with up to now, the man sent to kill him.

Under that open gaze Erik moved forward to occupy the stool directly opposite Charles, settling himself and his gun down as he delivered his well-practiced answer. “You aren’t the first person I have killed. I can’t tell you who sent me, and when the time is right I will give you their message.” he paused before adding quickly “I’ll do it quickly, you won’t feel a thing”. He almost felt Charles’s relief it was that palpable “Thank you my friend” and with that the soft smile was back, the tension was broken, they were just two men sitting around a kitchen bench. With a gun between them.

“Tea?”Charles looked up at him after a short silence. His eyes really were the clearest blue he had ever seen, and when looking openly like that with his kind smile and damned if it wasn’t the most honest gaze Erik had seen “...have offered before, terrible host that I am.” What in the hell?...Erik pretended he hadn’t been off in his own head again and remembering something about a self-made promise minutes before to not gape open-mouthed at everything Charles said, he decided to go with it. “No.” Harsh, maybe too harsh. “More of a coffee man, never got why the Brits had to make a ceremony out of ingesting caffeine. One espresso beats a pot worth of your tea.” The clear ring of laughter he received in return for his comment did not, Erik decided, feel rewarding, not at all. “It can be a bit much can’t it? Though I suppose I have always found the ritual of it all quite soothing. No matter what else is happening, how powerless you may be; for tea the requirements, the method, the result are all the same.”

His soft smile had turned to something more wistful, more sad. Erik didn’t like it. Now he had heard Charles laugh, it seemed like that’s all the man should be doing. His whole body shakes as the laughter reverberates through him, eyes close just briefly, the little lines around his mouth crinkle, his head ducks slightly, all together it made him seem younger, and so very innocent. Erik didn’t know what to do to lighten the mood, but he felt the need to distract the man from his mournful musings, to try and hear that laugh again before...yeah. He looked at his watch, it was just before 5am. Little over an hour then.

Charles was moving along the bench, pouring water into the kettle, setting it on the stove, fishing out tealeaves from a cupboard above his head – he was just so, well, relaxed. Erik’s mind was a tennis match of ‘the fuck?’ and the more concerning ‘why him?’. These were simply not conversations he allowed himself to have, too complicated, too difficult, and most of the time simply unnecessary. A man did not spend 15 years hunting Nazis and fail to recognise the despicable was often craftily hidden behind soft exteriors. But this man was, well, he looked different, acted, felt different. The little voice inside him just couldn’t be silenced on this – and it was fucking ridiculous. What was he supposed to do about it. Someone wanted this man dead, someone with enough of a connection to recruit Erik’s services, and that was not a person to dismiss. The fact that Charles would meet his end by Erik’s hand was just a matter of scheduling, the decision, responsibility, guilt belonged to whoever signed the contract. Not him.

“It isn’t poisoned you know.” Charles smirked, indicating to the teacup he had set in front of him at some point. Feeling caught off guard, Erik lashed out “Wouldn’t matter for you if it was now would it?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he winced. It wasn’t as if it wasn’t true, but to voice it just sounded rude, inconsiderate somehow to Charles’s clam collective approach to this situation. But Charles just smiled and lifted the cup to his lips “I never ruin a good Earl Grey. No reason to change anything at the end.” Erik felt the full weight of that seemingly harmless comment, convinced that like much of what this man said it was not said lightly.

“Don’t you care?” Erik was surprised by his own outburst, but damned if he was going to sit wondering when we could have his questions answered. “I mean, you’re going to die. Someone sent me, arranged this – wants you dead, and you haven’t asked who, haven’t even asked for a hint.”Another soft smile “I don’t need to ask you who contracted your services my friend.”Charles sipped at his tea “Does it bother you? That I’m not begging, not bargaining for my life – offering you a substantial bribe to just walk away?”How the bastard managed to have this conversation so calmly Erik didn’t think he would ever know, but the emotional role-reversal threw him off enough to offer a dripping-sarcastic retort “Well yes actually. I could use the money to buy a set of throwing knives.” Charles smirked “Oh. Forgive me, that was rather inconsiderate wasn’t it. Would a million do?” “10 Million.” “Oh, why limit yourself my friend! 50 Million?” “Now you’re just being cheap, make it an even 100.”

Erik grinned at their easy banter, eyes following Charles’s laugh with the same appreciation as before, the man really was just beautiful when he laughed.“Sorry to disappoint you my friend, but my wallet is a little light these days. I don’t think I could offer you much more than the tea in front of you.” It was true, the family name, the mansion and hell the posh accent all indicated Charles was a very wealthy man, which he was up until Thursday last week, when he had signed over his $270 million in personal assets to Xavier Pharmaceuticals. Erik hadn’t thought too much of it, after all it was Charles’s company, and personal investment is a standard way to bulk up share prices. Maybe he was just stupid with money, another rich, entitled, old-money kid gambling with big stakes and no thought of what would happen if he lost. Except Charles didn’t seem stupid or entitled.

Erik frowned, this was yet another anomaly to add to the convoluted enigma that seemed to be Charles. He glanced at his watch again, 10 minutes left. So soon. Charles seemed to follow the movement “Not long now” He spoke calmly, everything so fucking calmly. Erik shuddered, the overwhelming feeling of wrongness was almost choking him.

He watched as Charles collected up both his own empty and Erik’s tea filled cups and placed them in the sink gently. He moved as reassuringly slowly as he had done since waking to find Erik at his bedside, making his way towards the door that led out into the garden. Erik rose to follow, his body on autopilot, one hand reached out to retrieve the gun on the counter, the other reaching into his pocket for his silencer. The well-practiced movements served to calm him, ground him – Charles is the job and his death is not his choice, Charles is his target not his choice, Charles is not his choice. Charles is not his. Charles had stopped a little way ahead. Erik stopped too.

It was a beautiful spot. Erik didn’t usually have time to stop and smell the roses, but even he couldn’t ignore the tranquillity that a literal rose garden offered. The sky was just beginning to pale, the horizon streaking out pink and orange through the clouds, the crickets were quieting down, and the frost was crisp under heel. Charles was standing still, facing away from him, hands in his dressing gown. Somewhere a clock struck 6, the bells tolling out their count. It was time. Erik looked at his watch, stalling. It was definitely 6am, he had waited as stipulated. Now was the time to do it. Erik’s head jerked back to up to view the profile of the man in front of him “I…”He wanted to say something, he just didn’t know what. Charles turned his head, his gaze so strikingly honest and bright. Those red lips turned slightly upwards in a relaxed and easy smile. A smile you have for a friend. “It’s ok.” The sixth bell tolled and Erik shook with the sound. It was his job to do, and Erik had to do it! Fuck! It had to be done. Charles’s blue eyes looked away from his. He could do it. Charles was whispering to him, his voice soft and sweet. He would do it. “Thank you.” He did it.

Erik sucked in a breath, held it, and blew it out again. And another. And another. If he focused on remembering how to breathe he could get back in control. He could. He would. Minutes passed and Erik just stood there, arm outward, gun still aimed at the now empty air in front of him. Control damn it. Follow the fucking protocol.

He lowered his arm, put away his gun and fished out his phone along with an envelope from his jacket. Opening the letter he dialled the number printed. This was it, just tell his employer that the deed was done and he could leave this place. Leave and get more fucking drunk then he had in his life. As much alcohol as it takes to forget that laugh, that smile, those fucking blue fucking eyes. The call rang out. Fucking great. Just fucking…. “Terribly sorry to have missed your call. If you could please leave your name and number, I will be sure to return your call just as soon as I am able” BEEP.

No. It wasn’t…no. NO. NO NO. The voice. No. But it was. He spent the last few hours listening to that voice. “No.” Erik sank to his knees. His thoughts that had been so jumbled, so caught up in confusion, were suddenly, painfully, tragically clear. Charles had been so calm, there was no panic, no begging. He had donated all his money, his home, his assets. He had seemed relieved when Erik confirmed he was going to kill him. He had thanked…Oh god he had thanked him. He..he…..Erik retched. Nothing came out, he was denied the satisfaction of even that small a punishment. The guilt that was building now blindsided him. Why? Why why why? Why had Charles done this? Why did he think he deserved this? Why had Erik done it? Why did he do it when he fucking knew something was off, he fucking well KNEW! He looked over at the body next to him. He forced himself to look. He did that. He couldn’t stop looking. A slight movement of the wind rustled around him, and that’s when he saw it, the paper still clutched in Charles’s hand. Erik reached for it, tugging it as gently from Charles’s grasp as he could without actually touching him. It was a cut out newspaper article from 3 months ago. He read it.

_Charles Xavier, genius genetic scientist and CEO of Xavier Pharmaceuticals, has found a cure for Albecks Disease. A spokesperson from the company is expected to announce the immediate production, and free distribution of the revolutionary new cure after receiving an anonymous funding donation. Known for attacking the immune system, Albecks Disease’s defining trait is the disfiguration of a victims appearance before death. The emergence of this cure, which took years of research and millions of dollars, will save the lives of thousands of patients afflicted and surely come as a relief to their many families. Unfortunately the cure comes too late for Xavier’s own family, his adopted younger sister Raven Darkholme was diagnosed at 12 years old with the disease, passed away a year ago, mere months before testing was completed._

Erik looked back at Charles’s body. Just above his head was the marble slate he had stood at before...where he had chosen to stand. He looked at it properly enough now to read the name on the grave. Raven.

Erik was...he just...he is...tired. Enough. He forces this body to respond. Hand on knee, weight pushing, slowly bending upwards, standing. Eyes off the ground, off Charl-the body, and straight ahead. Twist on heel, turn, step forward. Keep walking. This job was done, now to the next. And the next, and the....It was what he was good at, what he had always known. After all, what did he expect, piercing blue eyes to save him? Draw him from the darkness? Erik knows what he deserves. He is the one that takes life, he does not deserve one in return. Certainly not with someone like...Keep walking, just walk away.


End file.
